Couch Time
by AnonymousStrawberry
Summary: The Goth Kids are each sent to the counselor's office after being busted for smoking. Some angst ensues. Implied CuRed. Feedback is much appreciated!
1. Introduction

**Description:** The Goth Kids, now in high school, are sent to the counselor's office after being caught cutting class and smoking. With a little one-on-one time with the counselor, they each open up and explain why they are the way they are. There will be angst.

Feedback is appreciated more than you could possibly know.

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"The Goth Kids", a group of teenaged nonconformists who were known to inhabit the back parking lot of South Park high school. They had always seemed to share a brain. Ever since elementary school, they'd been punished together, shared smokes, coffee, and poetry. No one had ever really gotten to know each of them personally, not even all the teachers even knew their names. They had grown so accustomed to being treated as a unit that they all stood up when the counselor stepped out of her office and nodded at them.

"Whoa, not so fast, boys. And Henrietta." The entire group stared at her questioningly. "One at a time, please." After a group huddle and what appeared to have been a rigorous debate, the youngest, Georgie, stepped forward and followed the school counselor into her office.


	2. Loneliness

The counselor's office was different from the one's from the middle and elementary schools in town. There was a purple couch opposite a wooden desk, and a house plant in the corner. It smelled like coffee and ramen noodles, probably what the counselor had had for lunch.

"Sit. Lie down, if you like." The woman offered. Georgie sat on the couch, his eyes glued to the floor. "So, do you know why you've been sent in here?"

"Because you fucking Nazi conformists caught us smoking outside."

"Hey, hey. Easy on the accusations of Nazism. And that's not the whole reason, Georgie." The youngest goth looked up. "Your grades have been slipping. Well, they were never great, but they seem to have gotten worse, if that's possible."

"Why do you care? Cause you want me to 'be able to make a successful life for myself'? So I'll grow up like all the other conformist douchebags here? Pass."

"Hey, I support individuality more than you can possibly know, but not wanting a good life for yourself is worrisome."

"Is it really all it's cracked up to be, then?" He asked, looking up.

"I beg your pardon?" The counselor replied confusedly.

"Is 'having a good life' all it's cracked up to be?"

"So, you don't have a good life?" She challenged. Georgie pondered this for a moment.

"It's not exactly the best, no." he replied, once again staring at the floor.

"What about it isn't good?"

"My mom and I, we're on our own. My parents were never married, my dad didn't want anything to do with me. Mom works two jobs, so she's not around all the time."

"I don't see what that has to do with your grades."

"My friends, they don't care about school. Why should I?" The counselor got an odd smirk on her face, finally understanding.

"Oh, I see. You do this to impress your friends."

"I don't do it to 'impress' them!" Georgie snapped.

"You're afraid they'll leave you if you don't do as they do. You don't want to be alone." Georgie gripped his knees. The counselor offered him a box of tissues, which he declined.

"Without them, I have nothing..."

"I'm sure they won't care if you get good grades or not, it's not as if they pay attention to things like that." Georgie looked up again.

"You think so?"

"I know so. You're free to go, Georgie. Please send in Henrietta."


	3. Guilt

Henrietta sat cross-legged on the couch of the counselor's office, lighting up her cigarette and taking a long drag before blowing smoke in the woman's face.

"So whaddya want?" She asked impatiently.

"Do you know why you're here, Henrietta?"

"Don't care." She said plainly.

"You do realize that there's no smoking allowed on school grounds?"

"You do realize I don't give a rat's ass?" The redheaded counselor narrowed her eyes.

"All right, you know what? I've got your smart ass all figured out. This is just teen rebellion. You don't have any legitimate issues, you're doing this for attention."

"I don't have any _legitimate issues_? You're the fucking school counselor, aren't you supposed to listen to my problems?" Henrietta replied angrily.

"Well then why don't you tell me about your issues instead of acting like I'm out to get you?" Henrietta opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but quickly changed her mind. "That's better. Now, what's with your behaviour?"

"I dunno. All my parents ever talk about is my stupid little brother."

"Your brother is Bradley Biggle, right? He went missing-"

"Five years ago. Yeah, _I know._ I get that you never quite get over losing a kid, but ignoring your other kids isn't gonna fucking bring them back." She said sourly.

"Do you really think that your parents are ignoring you?"

"They never talk to me anymore! At least when they were being stupid annoying conformists they actually cared!"

"Well of course they care about you, they're your parents-"

"No, they don't! They're mad because I was always mean to Bradley. I always called him a dork... told him I hated him..." Henrietta bit her lip, trying hard not to cry. "And then he just... ran off. No one ever saw him again. My parents blamed me, though they'd never admit it, fucking conformists."

"So you _are_ doing this just to rebel?"

"...Kinda." She replied, "I wanna say I'm sorry, but they won't listen to me."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because I've tried. They just said 'Oh, it's not your fault honey.'" She mocked her mother in a sing-song voice, "And then they turn around and act like fucking hypocrites. I hate them... I hate them _so fucking much_!" She yelled, letting some tears slide down her cheeks. The counselor handed her a box of tissues.

"I know you don't really hate them, Henrietta." She said, trying to calm the goth girl.

"No, I hate them. I hate how they never talk to me anymore, I hate how my mother never comes up to bug me when my friends are over, I hate how they just won't fucking admit that they blame me and move on with it!"

"Henrietta, losing a child is devastating. But losing two is... well it's beyond devastating."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean they don't want you to hate them, as ironic as that is. You always hated when they talked to you or bugged you and your friends, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, whether or not they blame you, they don't want you to hate them. You're their daughter, and they will love you no matter what." Henrietta rubbed her eyes, smudging her eyeliner in the process. "Tell you what, I think you should go home tonight and talk to your parents. I know it's so 'conformist', but I think talking it out is a good solution."

"Okay.."

"You're free to go, Henrietta. Please send in Dylan. Oh and by the way,"

"Yeah?"

"The smudged eyeliner is totally hardcore goth." Although Henrietta would never admit to it, the counselor's last comment made her crack a smile.


	4. Rebellion

The counselor stared at the high school junior seated on her couch for a good five minutes before finally addressing him.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"Not to you, conformist."

"What is it with you kids and this whole 'nonconformity' thing? You're even worse than some of the hipster kids I get in here..."

"Hey! Don't you fucking dare compare us to those douchebags!"

"What, their brand of nonconformity is somehow inferior to yours?" Dylan opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it. "You and Henrietta both are really easy to shut up..." She commented. Dylan shot her a death glare. "Oh, and now you're pissed at me. Look, I'm kind of trying to help you."

"Why bother?"

"Because high school is a living hell. You forget half of the stuff they teach you in class, but the social aspects you remember forever. Who you liked, who liked you, who bullied you and for what reason, things like that."

"And?"

"I got bullied when I was a kid. I was- hold on, we're here to talk about you, smartass." She said bitterly.

"Alright, fine." He replied, mildly impressed by a school counselor cursing. "Whaddya wanna know?"

"What's with your grades, huh? I can see you've got loads more potential than F's and D's."

"What's the point? I'm not going to college anyway."

"You should at least get a high school diploma, Dylan. How do you expect to make money?"

"I'm plenty good at art. I figure I'll be an artist or something."

"You do realize that's not very realistic?"

"You do realize I already paint murals for businesses downtown?" The counselor sighed exasperatedly. "Besides, we're all only sticking around until Georgie either finishes or drops out of high school, then we're all getting a car and getting the fuck outta here."

"Why?"

"Because, after spending these lovely seventeen years with my parents, I want out." The counselor raised an eyebrow, finally making progress.

"What's wrong with your parents?"

"They're good parents and all, but they just... they aren't really into my lifestyle."

"In what way?"

"If they had their way, I'd be the polar opposite of what I am right now: preppy, a straight-A student, a virgin, no piercings, and I wouldn't smoke; 'smoking's bad for you, perse.'" He said the last part in a nasally, mocking tone.

"So this is a rebellion thing?"

"No, this is a 'get-me-out-of-here-before-I-die' thing."

"Well, your parents can't control you forever, and unless things escalate into physical force, I think talking to them is your best bet. They need to understand that this is your life, not theirs."

"Much easier said than done."

"Well, if they still insist on controlling your life, try to find a method of rebellion that's less destructive to yourself. Maybe get a really slutty girlfriend." Dylan laughed.

"Girls, particularly slutty ones, really aren't my style. I think I'll get a tattoo..."

"Just don't get anyone's name tattooed on you. Believe me, that shit gets awkward." Dylan laughed again.

"You're different from the other teachers here. You swear, and you recommend that students get tattoos and date sluts to get back at their parents."

"If anyone asks, I never told you to get a tattoo. I'm just another conformist skank."

"Agreed."

"I'm serious, that tattoo thing could get me in serious trouble."

"Understood." The counselor smiled, relieved.

"You're free to go, Dylan. Send Evan in, please."


	5. Father Figure

The counselor stared at the lanky teenager sitting on her couch, pondering exactly what his issue was. The others had been fairly easy to read, but this one just stared at her with a blank expression. Yes, he'd be much harder to get to.

"You gonna say something or what?" He asked, obviously bored.

"I'm trying to see what your deal is," She replied, "but you're just so apathetic it's hard to figure it out."

"You wanna find out what my 'deal' is? You wanna 'figure me out?' Good fuckin' luck."

"Defensive much. You've got _something _good to hide, unless you don't have anything to hide."

"What the hell?"

"Maybe you've got nothing. Your family's normal, loving. You're just a pose-"

"DON'T YOU _FUCKING _DARE!" Evan snapped, standing up abruptly.

"Oh, did that strike a nerve? Why don't you sit your ass down and explain to me exactly how you're not a pose-"

"Say it and I will end you." Evan cut her off bitterly.

"Fair enough." The goth leader sat back down.

"You're half-right. My mom's a good parent and all, but she and my dad split up a while ago. He didn't even fight her for custody of me, but God forbid she keep the house and everything else."

"So you feel abandoned?"

"You really are a smart one," he replied sarcastically, "I haven't seen him since I was six."

"I understand that you feel this way, but I don't understand why you're do deep in this apathy that you're throwing your life into the toilet."

"What's the fucking point?"

"You tell me."

"I'm just here 'till Georgie graduates, then we're outta here."

"Yeah, Dylan said something about that. Was it your idea?"

"Most of the shit we get into is my idea." he smirked.

"You really care about your friends, don't you?"

"Well, yeah."

"So what's with your travel plans?"

"Do you want to know what I notice about everyone here? They're all unhappy. They were destined for so much more, but they stayed here, in this puny-ass mountain town. I don't want that for my friends."

"What about you?"

"I'll worry about them first, then I'll be concerned about myself."

"How selfless of you."

"They've got more potential than me, anyway. Georgie's already in a math class that's advanced for most juniors, but the teacher's too busy focusing on the ever-so-perfect-at-everything Wendy Testaburger. And Henrietta's a fantastic actress. If she actually tried getting up on stage sometime she'd knock everyone dead."

"What about Dylan?"

"Dylan is an amazing artist. See this?" He asked, showing off a rose drawn on his forearm. "He drew this, all freehand. In marker."

"Dylan had that exact same rose on his arm," she commented, having not really noticed until now.

"We're gonna get them tattooed on after they fade," he explained.

"Evan, you're gushing about them as if they were your own-" _Light bulb. _"Oh, I get it now."

"What?" Evan asked.

"Evan, you're acting like you're their father."

"Why wouldn't I? Georgie doesn't have a dad, Henrietta's hates her, and Dylan's is a douchebag."

"Well, because your grades are flopping, theirs are too. If you're gonna be a father figure, set a good example." Evan looked down.

"Yeah, I know. I'm just worried that they'll reject me. Good grades are for conformists."

"Evan, they love you. Everything will be fine. You're free to go, but if your grades start slipping again, I'll have to 'bust you for smoking' again." As she said "busted for smoking" she made little air quotes with her fingers.

"You..." She winked and pretended to be busy going through records as Evan closed the door behind him.


	6. Epilogue

The goth kids had returned to their spot in the back lot of the school. Sure, they were gonna start skipping less, but why start today?

Henrietta sat with her legs crossed, scribbling some new poetry in her notebook. Georgie pretended to do the same, though everyone could tell he was really finishing up the math homework that was due tomorrow. Dylan rested his head on Evan's shoulder, a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth. Evan sat with his back to the wall, pondering something.

"Hey, you know what?" he said suddenly, causing his companions to look up, "there's a window up there."

"Yeah... what's your point?" Henrietta asked.

"I'm pondering what's on the other side of it."

"Probably the boiler room or something," Dylan replied lazily.

"I'm gonna look," he said, getting up. Dylan whined slightly at the loss of his human pillow as Evan stood on top of a crate to get a better view.

"SON OF A BITCH." As the others clamored to see, the counselor smiled down at the papers on her desk, having heard everything they'd said through the open window.

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**THE END AND JUNK. I HOPE YOU ENJOYED **

**I've been meaning to write this for a while, and I'm glad I did. Positive feedback is nice, but if you have any suggestions for how I could improve I would greatly appreciate that as well.**


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